


Sexretary

by lightyears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, F/M, Kinda, PWP, Smut, there's a bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly the title explains it. </p><p>A few drinks, a red dress, and unresolved sexual tension come to a head when Clarke calls Bellamy in late at night to help her find a document.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sexretary

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because bellamysking and I both found last ep a little disappointing, and she wanted some "good old bellarke smut" to make up for it. So here you go, love, I actually delivered!!!! (Sorry it's a day late I accidentally fell asleep at my laptop and was busy the entire next day whoops.)
> 
> This is the first fic I've written with _more_ dirty talk than I usually include, so be kind haha :)
> 
> (I am also weirdly happy with the title bc I think it's hilarious I hope you agree)

If you asked Clarke why she thought it was a good idea to bypass her apartment for a change of clothes and instead come straight into the office, she wouldn’t know what to tell you.

Maybe that being four drinks into the night she hadn’t thought twice about the too tight dress that she was donning in the hopes of getting laid; one that definitely wasn’t appropriate for work. Maybe that, being past nine pm on a Friday night, she hadn’t expected to bump into any of her colleagues and have to hold a conversation while her breasts were practically spilling from said dress. Or maybe that her secretary slash opponent in completely inappropriate sexual tease off competition slash confusingly sweet yet asshole-y employee wrapped into a package known as Bellamy Blake was the last person she thought she’d be calling in her tipsy state, asking for the whereabouts of that document. _You know that one,_ she had said over the phone, a hand on her forehead as she tried to will away the alcohol induced haze clouding her brain. _The one that I forgot to send through to Mr. Kane?_

Which of course he didn’t know, because apparently “important document” wasn’t a good enough descriptor for him. But thankfully, once the conversation started going in circles, he told her he was only three blocks from the office and promised to come help her out. When a string of _thank you_ s poured from her mouth he had simply laughed, saying that it’d be _much easier than trying to communicate with Drunk Clarke_ which despite her indignant huff was probably fair.

Still, now it’s five minutes since the call ended and Clarke’s becoming increasingly worried about her appearance. Her dress is a nice bright red, hugging her body in all the right (but sinfully wrong) places while showing off a nice amount of cleavage. With her lips stained a light pink, her hair down in loose waves and her heels making her legs look deceptively long, she knows she looks hot. Which probably _isn’t_ what she should be going for now that she’s back at work for the night, but it’s a little too late to backtrack now.

The thing is, she wants Bellamy. Like, a lot. He’s ridiculously good looking, and despite the rough start they had when he began working for the company five months ago, they’ve since found comfortable ground with each other. Which has been a definite positive, except for, you know, the part where she kind of wants to ride his cock more than anything else in the world. The sexual tension was there from the very beginning, and Clarke’s had her fair share of hate sex (thank you Lexa), so she knows it would’ve been good even then. But now she actually _knows_ Bellamy, actually _likes_ him, has spent the last four months at work simultaneously teasing him with suggestive comments and tight skirts, and being teased in return with lingering touches and cheeky winks, so there’s no way it could be a one time thing for her. One taste of Bellamy Blake would never be enough.

And besides that, she knows nothing can actually happen between them. Even once.  She’s his boss. Maybe not directly, because technically he’s the receptionist for the department she heads, hired by Kane, and not really supposed to work as closely with Clarke as he does, but the point is that he does. So yes, she’s his boss, and therefore it Cannot Happen. The fact that she started this little game of theirs all those weeks ago is bad enough, but to actually  _act_ on it? Well, it's a terrible idea.

(If she keeps reminding herself of that then maybe her mind won’t focus on all the non-accidental grazes of their hands as they exchange files, or that lingering moment they spent brushing by each other in the doorway of her office last week, or the heated eye contact they'll share when it’s late at night and they’ve long stopped talking about work.

She’s totally got this Under Control.)

“Oh _fuck,_ ” she whines when she hears the elevator for the floor ding and subsequent footsteps.

This is the exact reason she was looking to get laid tonight. The sexual tension that pulses between the two of them pretty much every second they're together is getting out of control and constantly setting her on edge. She’s not even going to think about the number of late nights spent alone in bed with nothing but a vibrator and her imagination. Her eyes flutter shut when the images of dark eyes and curly hair and broad shoulders flick through her mind, and she pulls her bottom lips between her teeth as she tries to slow her racing heart. The four bourbon and cokes she managed to finish before being called in by Kane have definitely caught up with her.

Bellamy lets out a low whistle in lieu of greeting, and Clarke opens her eyes to find him unabashedly taking her in, dark eyes raking over her body.

“Date night, Clarke?” He drawls with a smirk, shrugging off his jacket to reveal a familiar pale blue shirt. This time though, the sleeves are rolled up to display a nice portion of his forearms (why is she attracted to his _forearms?_ ) and paired with some dark jeans. It’s ridiculous that she finds him more attractive like this than in the more professional clothes he wears daily, but she’s going to blame it on the alcohol. 

“Something like that,” she responds, her own smirk gracing her face, adding an arched eyebrow as some sort of challenge. (It’s a game of chicken they’re well versed in playing, but the alcohol and the dress are probably leading her into dangerous territory.)

He rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “So, boss, what’re you looking for?” 

Clarke lets her smirk drop, instead sighing. She’s definitely too tipsy to be much use right now, but still tries to describe the document she’s looking for, which needs to be photocopied and then sent express to London in Kane’s words _as soon as possible,_ which she knows means her head is on the line if it arrives late. But it turns out Bellamy’s a bit drunk himself, which she only really notices when he steps up behind her, close enough that she can feel the warmth of his chest on her back, smell the faint scent of liquor almost masking his distinct Bellamyness.

“Are you drunk?” She asks, turning around to lean against the back of her desk. She folds her arms across her chest, delighted when Bellamy’s eyes predictably drop to her cleavage, because god is it wrong but she still loves to play with fire.

“Maybe a little,” he responds, shuffling forward slightly. “I actually _was_ on a date.”

“Oh?” She asks, raising an eyebrow and hoping that her expression didn’t falter, that her voice didn’t give away the pang of jealousy that surged at the words. Because they play this game of theirs, and she knows that it’s bad for her but she can’t stop playing (and she can’t win either). She hadn’t really thought that maybe he didn’t want to play anymore, that maybe he wanted the affection of someone else. She was planning to get laid tonight herself, but that was more out of necessity. She hadn’t gone far enough to go on a _date,_ as in one that could lead to two and two that could lead to three and three that could lead to a potential relationship.

She wants Bellamy. Enough that she doesn’t want anyone else to have him, and she knows it’s not fair, but it’s true.

“Yeah,” he drawls, apparently not catching onto her internal panic. “My baby sister set me up with someone she knows. Apparently getting engaged has sparked her inner match maker, and she’s convinced that I need some help with my love life.” He rolls his eyes, but the fondness in his voice gives him away. “The girl was nice, but it was obvious there wasn’t going to be a second date. Your call just saved me from an extra hour of polite awkwardness.”

The relief that floods Clarke is kind of ridiculous, and she tries not to let it show on her face, but from the way Bellamy’s eyes soften she’s not sure she succeeds.

“Well you’re welcome then,” she says, straightening. “We can both thank work for getting us out of awkward exchanges.”

“Is that so?”

Clarke smirks, stepping past Bellamy to begin riffling through a cabinet that the document she's looking for might be hiding in. “Ever try to hit on someone only to realise they’re straight and think you were just trying to compliment their outfit?”

Bellamy snorts a laugh. “Can’t say that’s ever happened to me, but maybe you have to show me your opener. How do you approach girls and try to establish that you want to hook up with them?”

She turns around, raising an eyebrow while intentionally improving the view of two of her best assets.

“If I came up to you in this dress, would you think I was just there to compliment your outfit?”

She sees how his eyes darken, and he clears his throat. “Probably not,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. Fuck she wants to do that for him instead.

“Exactly,” she smirks, turning back around and popping out her ass while she searches through a list of files. She hears Bellamy begin riffling through some close by, but doesn’t dare turn around. After a minute she shakes her head, exclaiming “You know what? _Fuck,_ Kane!”

Bellamy snorts a laugh. “Abrupt, but probably fair. Why fuck Kane?”

“He’s making us come into work on a Friday night. Fuck him!”

“Don’t fuck Kane, Clarke.”

She throws her head back in laughter, turning around to find Bellamy’s grinning at her, eyes full of mirth.

“I promise not to fuck Kane, but maybe I’ll fuck with him.” He raises an eyebrow at that and Clarke continues. “Well, we were both out tonight and had to come back in here. I think we deserve a drink, and I know someone who keeps a well stocked liquor cabinet in their office.”

“So you’re going to go steal our boss' booze?” He laughs. “Do you want to get fired?”

“It’s not _stealing_ , it’s compensation. And I have a key to his office, so it’s like, hardly a crime. You keep searching, I’m going on a mission.”

“You’re not James Bond, Clarke!” He calls out once she’s ducked out of her office, and she can hear the laughter in his voice.

“Fuck you!” She yells, hopes that it carries. “I’m much, _much_ better than Bond!”

Breaking into Kane’s office is a lot easier than Clarke initially anticipated, even though she knew she literally only needed a key to his door. But part of her thought an alarm might be set off when she stepped inside or something (although that was probably the alcohol talking). So after the frankly underwhelming entrance she simply finds his liquor cabinet, thanking the heavens that it doesn’t have a lock, and picks out one of bottles that’s close to full and probably won’t miss a glass or two.

“You know,” Bellamy drawls when she returns, a bottle of liquor and two glasses in hand. He holds up a piece of paper which looks a lot like the document they’re searching for, a post-it note pressed onto it. “For someone who is much, _much_ better than Bond, I thought you would’ve checked the stack of files in the _to be sorted_ drawer.” He passes her the document when she puts down the two glasses, and she sees her own handwriting on the post-it note. _Bellamy sent copy Monday._

“Huh,” she frowns, looking between the file, the bottle of scotch and Bellamy’s very amused expression. “I guess we don’t need any alcohol to help us through the search then.”

“I don’t think _more_ alcohol would’ve actually helped, but I definitely think we deserve a celebratory drink,” he smirks. He steps around the desk until he’s standing in front of her, taking the document and placing it back into the stack to be sorted. He returns a moment later, fingers brushing against her hand as he takes the bottle of scotch from her. He pours each of them an small glassful and offers one to her. “Come on, Clarke,” he says, eyes dark and locked on her own. “A dress like that is begging for someone to offer the owner a drink.”

She purses her lips to hide a smile, accepting the drink a moment later. They keep their gaze on each other as they each take a sip, and the scotch slides down her throat, a burn to it before a warmth spreads through her chest.

“So a dress like this is begging for someone to offer the owner a drink?” She asks, arching an eyebrow. “I thought the line was that a dress like this is begging to be worn.”

He smirks, all easy confidents, and takes a step forward, shaking his head. “Clarke, a dress like that is begging to be torn off.”

She tries to suppress a shiver at the words, tries to get control of herself, because while they’ve exchanged teasing and downright suggestive comments in the past, it’s never been like this. Alone. In her office. At night. A fantasy she’s been trying to ignore just one bad decision away; the possibility of him suddenly so _real_.

She downs the rest of her drink in one, also taking Bellamy’s glass and setting both on top of one of the cabinets. She moves back in front of him, only a step away because he’s able to draw her in without ever really trying.

“Bellamy,” she sighs, can hear the regretful tone in her own voice. The effect is immediate, Bellamy straightening, dark eyes blinking to reveal his usual chocolate brown.

“Have I been reading into things?” He asks, sounding both apologetic and confused, and she’s only known him for five months but it’s just like him to blame himself.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “This is – this is so fucking unprofessional of me, Bellamy, acting the way I’m acting with you. Wanting you the way I want you,” she adds, because fuck it really. She’s kind of drunk and he deserves the truth after all of this. “I’m your boss, and I know you’ve been going along with everything that’s happened, but I can’t risk taking advantage of the situation we’re in.”

“Clarke,” he says, sounding amused and annoyed and fond all at once. “You’re not taking advantage of me.” He takes a step forward, rests a hand on her waist, hesitant. “I’m three years older than you, princess, and I wouldn’t be reciprocating if anything made me uncomfortable. I want you, and not just in this way.”

“Bellamy,” she breathes out, doing what she’s wanted to do for a long time and reaching up to run a hand through his hair.

“If you tell me you don’t want this, then that’s fine and we can both leave tonight. But don’t leave for the bullshit reason that I don’t want you back. Look at yourself, Clarke,” he says, grip on her waist tightening. “How could I not want you? And I don’t just mean the dress.”

She laughs a little, looking into his eyes for a long moment before she cracks and then “Fuck it.”

She closes the remaining distance between them and crashes her lips to his, slipping her tongue into his mouth when he gasps in surprise. It’s better than she could’ve imagined, mainly because her imagination is just that, and here he is in reality, arms wrapping around her, tongue sliding against her own, soft curls between her fingers. She gets lost in the kiss, like she knew she would if she ever got the chance, and can’t stop the moan that leaves her lips (and he swallows) when his hands drift down to her ass. He pulls her against himself, and she flushes with hot desire when his twitching cock presses against her hip.

“Fuck, Bellamy,” she says when they finally part, the words shaky and laced with clear lust.

“All in good time, princess,” he responds, hoarse, turning them around so she’s backed up against her desk. “This has definitely been a fantasy of mine.”

“Oh fuck, me too,” she breathes out, eyes fluttering shut as he moves her hair across one shoulder, lips attaching to the column of her neck. She rucks the skirt of her dress up her thighs until she’s able to circle her legs around him, pressing her almost throbbing pussy against his growing erection.

She moans when he begins nipping her skin, tongue quickly laving the dull sting as he trails up her neck, soon reaching the pulse point behind her ear.

“This is a fantasy of yours, princess?” He asks lowly into her ear, sucking on her earlobe. She nods, trying to continue rubbing herself against him to get some friction going, an arm supporting her on the desk while the other is tangled in Bellamy’s curls. “You imagined me fucking you on your desk? That’s fucking dirty, princess.”

“I have a feeling you like it dirty, Bellamy,” she says, twisting her head to catch any response with her lips. It’s hot and wet, lips hungry in their movements, tongues darting into each other’s mouths, and it leaves her close to breathless.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he pants when they finally pull apart, hands rough as they slide down her back, pulling her chest flush against him. “I do love it dirty, princess. What else have you imagined?”

She flushes with all the things that rush through her mind, every fantasy she’s had featuring Bellamy Blake front and centre. His hands slide down her hips and to her thighs, thumbs rubbing where the fabric of her dress ends and her soft skin begins.

“Sometimes I imagine you going down on me while I’m sitting at my desk,” she says, revelling in the way his teeth sink into her shoulder at the confession. He begins nosing down the strap of her dress, his hands slowly sliding up the skirt of it to reveal more skin. “Nobody would know that you’re under there, fucking me with your tongue and sucking my clit and making me come all over your mouth.”

“Fuck that’s hot, baby.” He presses a sweet kiss onto her shoulder, an apology of sorts, and she feels a rush of warmth that has everything to do with the gesture and nothing to do with the way she’s practically pulsating with desire for him. “That’s definitely something I can make happen.”

She breathes out a laugh almost helplessly, feels herself get even wetter with the promise, and even though she’d love for Bellamy to continue working her body like this until she’s fucking _begging_ , that can come later. She pushes at his chest, smirking when he whines because he’s no longer tasting her skin, and makes sure he’s watching with full attention when she steps back onto the ground and tugs her dress up and off.

There’s a moment of heated silence, the air around them becoming even thicker with desire, the knowledge of everything that’s about to happen. Bellamy’s eyes are alight with hunger as they take in her soft curves, ivory skin covered in some dark navy lace, and when he meets her eyes he smiles sort of helplessly.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Clarke,” he tells her, strong even when his voice is a little wrecked, and finally his hands and lips are on her again. But this time it’s better, because she’s feeling the warmth of his skin directly against her own, how his touch sends sparks of arousal straight to her pussy in the way they trace her curves. He pushes her back onto the desk, and Clarke braces herself with his shoulders when his hands leave her for a short moment to sweep anything behind her to the side. He catches her bottom lip with his teeth before ducking his head from her chasing lips so he can kiss along the swell of her breasts. “Lie back, baby,” he says against her chest, raising his eyes to look at her, surprisingly soft. “I’ll take care of you, princess, just lie back.”

Clarke finds herself nodding eagerly, hands dropping from Bellamy’s shoulders so she can instead lean back, resting on her elbows. Bellamy catches her lips once more, just quickly, his hands moving up her bare sides and to her back, finding the band of her bra. He unclasps it in one swift move, and Clarke pulls it off, eyes trained on Bellamy’s face when he sees her breasts.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Clarke,” he says, voice rough. He moves his hands to cup each breast, feeling the weight of them in his palms, flicking his thumb over her nipples. She can feels them harden under his touch, and he looks so fucking delighted, mouth descending onto one of them as he leans over her. He sucks her nipple, letting his teeth graze occasionally, each time sending a jolt to her cunt, until it’s nice and pebbled. He gives her other one similar treatment, hands lightly caressing her curves while he focuses his attention on her chest. “I knew they’d be amazing, but this is just – wow, Clarke,” he breathes out a laugh, leaning further forward to press an almost sweet kiss onto her lips.

“I’m glad you like them,” she smiles against his lips, catching them again because his taste is too delicious not to.

When they pull apart next Bellamy begins moving down her body, lips pressing softly, tongue leaving slick trails, all towards the place she needs him the most. She’s embarrassingly wet, honestly, but with the way he’s been so far she doubts he’ll mind. This has been building for so long, and they’ve both been waiting, trying to stop themselves, that now that it’s finally fucking _happening_ , every part of her is pulsing with want.

She raises her ass from the desk when his thumbs hooks around the waistband of her panties, and he pulls them down her thighs and calves, throwing the flimsy material somewhere she doesn’t register. When he doesn’t move back up immediately she wants to whine, but a small laugh stops her when she feels his fingers begin unbuckling the ankle straps of her heels.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he drawls, apparently needing to explain himself in response to her laughter. “You look fucking hot in these, but I’d rather not be stabbed in the back with your heels when I go down on you.”

That pulls another laugh out of her, and Clarke lets her head drop back, smiling. “Fair enough, Bell.”

He’s able to take them off without too much loss of time, quickly getting his mouth back onto her skin. His hands slide up her legs, lips and tongue and teeth quickly following, and soon he’s nibbling teasingly at the inside of her thighs, shoulders parting them while his hands play with her breasts.

Her pussy is practically throbbing by this point, and she honestly _needs_ Bellamy right now, so she takes matters into her own hands, sliding her thighs over his shoulders and pulling him towards her with her legs. He laughs against her cunt, muttering a “pushy”, but then one of his hands is moving from her chest to part her folds instead and he’s taking a long, slow lick of her.  Clarke can’t help the shiver that rolls through her, the utter relief at finally being touched, and sags against the desk, letting her shoulders hit the flat surface.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he moans, sliding his fingers along her slick arousal, making her breath hitch when he presses them into her clit momentarily. “And you taste so fucking good, Clarke. _Fuck_ , I can’t wait to taste you as you come.”  Clarke moans, both at the words and the way Bellamy slides two fingers into her without any warning. She thrusts her hips against him, unable to stop the utter need for _more_ , and his hand still playing with her breasts moves down to hold her into place on the desk.  “You gotta play with yourself, baby, cause I don’t think you’ll be able to stop from trying to fuck yourself on my fingers, and I wanna make this last.”

Clarke whines, but brings her fingers up to her mouth and sucks before doing as he requested and caressing the soft swell of her breast, flicking her thumb against her nipples. He swipes his tongue over her clit once, twice, three times, getting Clarke breathing hot and heavy, before he finally lets his mouth descend over it.

He beings sucking, breaking up the building pleasure with long, slow rolls of his tongue, or quick, sharp flicks that send jolts of electricity up her spine. His fingers move within her, slowly but surely, doing exactly what he wanted and making it last. 

She doesn’t actually mind, is able to enjoy the way everything builds, the sounds he’s making against her, the way his strong arm grounds her to the moment. When he finally begins curling his fingers, hitting that sweet spot within her that makes her whimper, the sound of her slowly falling apart seems to break his resolve, because he begins fucking her with his fingers, hard and fast, doubling his efforts on her clit, grazing his teeth and sucking in earnest while she tugs on her nipples. She’s been close to the edge all fucking night and it’s honestly a surprise that she lasted this long, but she’s glad he did it like this, because when she the pressure finally bubbles over she sees fucking stars. 

Clarke moans as she comes, a hand darting to Bellamy’s hair to anchor her while the waves of hot pleasure run through her, arching her back and curling her toes. Her cunt clenches around his fingers deliciously, and she grips the curls lacing her fingers as he works her through it, makes it last.

“Fuck,” she swears, breathless and so fucking wrecked when she finally comes down from the high, small jolts of the aftershock of her orgasm still setting her nerves alight. 

Bellamy chuckles as she leans back up onto her elbows, and he truly is a sight to behold, head between her thighs, mop of hair an absolute mess because of her. He pulls back; removing his fingers from her pussy and holding her gaze while he licks them clean of her arousal. It’s something that’s always turned her on; a partner that loves the taste of her, and she smiles lazily up at him even when a new flush of heat rolls through her. 

“Get up here,” she says, hand darting up to bring him to her while her legs wrap around his hips loosely. She pulls him down for a kiss, lets the taste of herself mingle between them as she licks into his mouth. It’s only when he wraps his arms around her bare back, pulling her up so she’s flush against his chest, that she registers that he’s close to fully dressed, which is unacceptable when she’s completely naked. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” she mumbles against his lips, hands moving from the back of his neck to his chest. 

“There’s definitely a solution to that,” he says, and she can feel his smirk against her lips.

She begins unbuttoning his shirt, leaning up to kiss him again, and he helps her shrug it off of his shoulders, her hands sliding over his taut muscles hungrily. She moves a hand between them, palming his almost throbbing cock beneath his jeans, and loves the way he groans into her mouth with the touch. She fumbles with the buttons of his pants while he toes off his shoes, and is finally able to tug them down when she ducks away from his distracting lips. 

His length is thick and hard beneath his boxer briefs, and Clarke smirks when she slides the only remaining garment down, pushing them to his calves with her legs so he can kick them off. His cock springs up before her, inviting, and she licks her hand before wrapping it around him. A shiver rolls through Bellamy’s shoulders with her touch, his hands cradling her face as he brings her in for another kiss while Clarke strokes him. It isn’t until she flicks her thumb over the tip, smearing the gathered pre-come when he jerks into her hand, that she nips at his bottom lip to break the kiss. She leans across her desk to grab her clutch, opening it and pulling out a foiled packet. She rolls the condom onto Bellamy with eager hands, unable to stop herself from giving him one last quick squeeze before she lets go. 

“Fuck, Clarke, I think you’ll be the death of me,” Bellamy swears, shaking his head in something like disbelief. He presses the head of his cock to the lips of her pussy, gathering the slick arousal that’s gathered again with the sight of him, the promise of Bellamy's cock inside of her. “You okay, princess?”

Clarke grins salaciously, leaning back down and wrapping her legs around him more tightly. “Of course, Bell. I’m so fucking ready for you to fuck me.”

He drops his head to his chest momentarily, hand at her hip tightening. Without warning he begins to push into her, and her eyes flutter shut with the feel of him stretching her so perfectly, making her feel so unbelievably full. He pauses his movements when he’s buried within her, giving her a moment to adjust.

“I’m good,” she assures him, breathy, bracing a hand on the top edge of her desk to give herself some leverage. 

Bellamy pulls out slowly before thrusting into her quickly, making her gasp with the incredible surprise. The sound of them moving together begins to fill the room, grunts and breathy moans and strangled names, the slap of their bodies as they meet each other for thrusts. Bellamy’s hands wrapped around her hips as he drives into her, urged on by her calls of _harder, faster_ while she pushes against him as much as she can in her position.

“Fuck, baby,” Bellamy groans after they’ve once again picked up the pace. She doesn’t know how long they’re going to last at this rate, but she can’t find it within herself to care. Every part of her feels fucking perfect, skin tingling with hot sparks, pussy throbbing with each welcomed thrust, Bellamy’s cock hitting her deep and hard, the coil in her core getting tighter and tighter with each jolt of pleasure. “Your tits look so amazing like this, baby, so fucking incredible. I love how they bounce as I fuck you.” 

Clarke whines at his words, forcing herself to maintain their heavy eye contact. She’s always been a fan of dirty talk, loved how voiced thoughts alone can get her wet and panting, but it’s a whole new thing coming from Bellamy; his voice so deep and rough that she can feel each dirty word directly against her skin and pussy, how he’s somehow still able to make her name sound like sweet honey when it falls from his lips. 

“When you come into work in those fucking blouses, and you leave one extra button undone whenever you call me into your office. Is that for me, baby? Are you trying to make me want to fuck at work, Clarke?”

Clarke breathes out a laugh, letting her head drop back and eyes close as she gets closer and closer to the edge.  “Of course it’s for you, Bell,” she tells him, voice wrecked. “I love teasing you at work.”

“Oh, princess, that’s so fucking naughty. You think anyone’s caught onto our little game? Maybe now they'll know that we’ve fucked. Maybe someone will catch us in your office.” Clarke moans at the thought, pussy clenching around his cock as the image makes her flush with both arousal and embarrassment. Bellamy of course catches on quickly. “Is that what you want, Clarke? To fuck me while in your office when anyone could walk right in? We’d have to be quiet, baby, to make sure nobody finds out, but I don’t think you can be. You love making noise, don’t you?” She whines in response, nodding her head in agreement. “ _Fuck,_ Clarke, you’re so fucking perfect. So fucking dirty.” 

“You love me being dirty,” she gets out, bringing two fingers to her hand and sucking quickly. She slides them down to her clit, rubbing the still sensitive area as everything builds to a climax; Bellamy's feel and taste and words.

“ _Fuck, princess,_ you know I do. I love watching you get yourself off like that. You want to come, don’t you?” 

“ _Yes._ I’m so fucking close, Bell.”

“Of course you are baby, I can feel it. Tell me what you need.”

“Just keep talking,” she says, pushing against him desperately and flicking a finger over her clit. She meets his eyes again, pupils blown so fucking wide they’re all but black, and he looks so goddamn wrecked it’s unbelievable. His hips stutter momentarily and she knows he’s trying to hold off for her. “Keep telling me what you like.”

“Oh, it’s fucking _everything,_ baby,” he says, keeping his eyes on her. “When I got to taste you it was heaven, princess, so fucking good. I can’t wait to spend hours with my head between your thighs, fucking you with my tongue and feeling you come all over it. It was amazing on my fingers; how you clenched so fucking hard. I swear I almost came right then and there feeling you fall apart because of me. And I can’t wait to feel it now, baby.” He speeds up again and this time she can’t keep up, so he hikes a leg over his shoulder and fucks into her so he's hitting a spot so deep in her cunt that she'll soon be seeing stars. “I can feel how close you are now, princess. You pussy is so hot and wet and tight around me, and as soon as you let go I know I’m going to follow you, baby.”

Clarke pants, rubbing her fingers into her clit almost painfully as Bellamy thrusts once, twice more, and then she’s keening, clenching around his cock so hard he pauses in his thrusts for a moment. She calls out his name, knows it’s _Bellamy_ falling from her lips like a prayer even when she can’t hear anything but her own heartbeat over the feeling of hot white release sending sparks to the tips of her toes and fingers. 

She doesn’t even realise he’s leaning down until he catches her moans with his lips, kissing her desperately as his thrusts become shallow and erratic. She kisses him back with fervour, wet and hungry while he lets her ride the waves of pleasure, and then he stops moving, buried deep within her as he comes. Clarke holds him to her, chest to chest, as he trembles above her, breaking the heated kiss up into shorter, sloppier ones with their need to breathe. 

“Holy fuck,” Bellamy breathes against her lips after a few long moments. She can tell he’s trying to support himself over her, but they’re both fucking exhausted, and if she weren’t at work she’d suggest they roll over and fall asleep. “That was fucking incredible.”

Clarke giggles, hands moving up his back, feeling every dip of his toned muscles, until she reaches his hair. She cards her fingers through, nails occasionally scraping against his scalp in a way that makes him hum, and she smiles into the next kiss she presses to his lips; slow and soft and sweet.

“It was,” she agrees, rubbing her thumb against his cheek. 

He smiles down at her, so fucking fond she almost wants to looks away. “I really like you, Clarke Griffin. Like, a lot. A ridiculous amount, honestly. Want to go on a date with me tomorrow night?”

Clarke laughs, pushing against his chest a little so she can breathe. “You’re asking me that before you even pull out? Feels a little unconventional.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling them both upright. “We spent the first month knowing each other kind of hating each other, and then the next four trying to sexually frustrate each other in a weird game to see who would crack first, only for it all to reach a head on a Friday night on your office desk. It’s safe to say we were already a little unconventional.”

Clarke grins, linking her arms around Bellamy’s shoulders and catching his top lip for a quick kiss. 

“I guess that’s true,” she grants, can’t help how her heart swells, how her chest blooms with warmth. “Tomorrow night?” 

“We can Netflix and chill,” he teases. “Apparently we’re pretty good at the chill part already.”

“Oh I think we can definitely improve,” she grins, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “It’s a date.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos make me very happy!!  
> Hope you enjoyed the story :)


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